


The Prince in the Tower - Alternative Start 2

by EndlessStairway



Series: Snippets and Orphans [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loki's Punishments, M/M, Past child neglect and endangerment (not by Loki or Tony), Sexual Slavery, Slave Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessStairway/pseuds/EndlessStairway
Summary: Another alternative scenario for Prince. I didn't follow through on this one even though I like the idea of desperate Loki doing anything to protect his daughter, ultimately I could not get behind a Tony that would threaten a kid, even if he was bluffing. It was TOO DARK for me.Warning - mentions of past child neglect (as well as my usual warnings)





	The Prince in the Tower - Alternative Start 2

**Author's Note:**

> Another alternative scenario for Prince. I didn't follow through on this one even though I like the idea of desperate Loki doing anything to protect his daughter, ultimately I could not get behind a Tony that would threaten a kid, even if he was bluffing. It was TOO DARK for me. 
> 
> Warning - mentions of past child neglect (as well as my usual warnings)

Loki held his breath as long as he could, swallowing hard and working the thick length in his throat. When his vision was greying out, he pulled back, took a breath, and pushed back down. If Loki was insufficiently pleasing, his master would grip his hair and take over. He could survive even a few minutes of suffocation, but the experience was not pleasant. Loki pushed such thoughts away. It would not do to lose concentration.

“Hands behind your back.”

Loki removed his hands from his master’s thighs and folded them behind his back. He leaned down further, his master’s cock slipping back into the tightness of his throat. His master began to roll his hips, a signal that he was getting close. Loki swallowed and hummed, he used every trick he knew to encourage his master’s climax. He suppressed the urge to breathe. Ignored the burning of his thighs, back and stomach muscles as he held his kneeling position. He focused only on the pleasure of his master. That’s all that mattered. If his master was satisfied, Loki would be safe, and more importantly, his daughter, Syla, would be safe.

Hands gripped his head, twisting in his hair. Loki almost panicked as he already desperately needed to breathe. He forced it away. It didn’t matter. He would allow his master to choke him into unconsciousness and finish in his slack mouth before he would pull away from those controlling hands. He knew better. He held still, stars dancing across the darkness of his closed eyes. A few more thrusts in his throat and then a pulsing sensation told him his master had finished. He swallowed as best he could, his master’s groan of pleasure floating in the air above his head.

Finally, finally he was released. He fell back to the floor, gasping, drool and cum on his face, dizzy and disoriented. He struggled back up on his knees, to clean off his master’s cock and rearrange his clothing. He knew his duties, they had been explained to him very clearly. He also new the consequences for disobedience. Punishment, he would call it, but his master called it ‘consequences’. As if it was the natural and inevitable result of his behavior, not a decision on his master’s part. Whatever he called it, it meant pain, and worse, withdrawal of his one privilege. He would be forbidden from visiting his daughter.

He used the damp cloth he had readied earlier, and fastened his master’s clothes. Only then did he wipe his own face and tidy his clothes and hair. His master liked him to look presentable. He knelt at his master’s feet. Loki did not allow his attention to waver. If his thoughts drifted and he did not hear his master call his name, it would not go well for him. His duty was to serve and he had to focus on that. He listened to his master's breathing, his movements. He did not look up, of course. He stared at the hard marble floor, his master's feet, clad in tattered shoes with stars on the heels. His master was very wealthy, Loki did not know why he dressed in such worn shoes. It was not his concern, Loki reminded himself, and pushed the thought away.

Loki was not dismissed until his master went to bed. Hours kneeling on the hard floor left his legs shaky and painful. He did not complain, simply bowed his head and took the elevator down to his cell.

He knew the cell was not a sanctuary. He was no safer here than anywhere else in his master’s home, but the thick glass door sliding closed was the illusion of safety. It was the best he could hope for. The cell was small, a narrow bed, a built-in cabinet for his clothes, an attached bathroom. For a prince, it was insulting, but for a slave, it was luxurious. Loki didn't think about it. It was what it was.

He had got into the habit of allowing himself to think his own thoughts in that room. It was dangerous, but he needed it. Outside of the cell, his very thoughts were obedient and dedicated to serving his master. He could not allow a flicker of disobedience to show on his face. His master’s invisible servant was always watching.

He lay on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head. He curled up in the darkness, knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his head. He did not touch the heavy collar locked around his neck. There was no point, Odin had sealed it with his magic years ago.

Loki allowed his thoughts to come. Once a prince of Asgard, a sorcerer, scholar, and warrior, he was now a mortal’s well-trained whore. He was the slave of Anthony Stark of Midgard. Once he had ranged the nine-realms. He had walked between worlds, traveled by the power of Yggdrasil itself. Now he was confined to a few rooms of his master’s mighty steel and concrete tower. He had shed tears over his fate, but he now all he could do was obey, and be grateful that it wasn’t worse. It could always be worse, and it had been.

Before he had been sold to his current owner, he had belonged to his half-brother Byleistr of Jotunheim. He had thought, when he saw who held the successful bid on him after his mockery of a trial, that going to Jotunheim would be his death. Byleistr certainly made him wish for death, but he didn’t grant it. He had no mercy for his runt of a brother, murderer of their father Laufey, the betrayer who had promised the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters and then broken that promise. No, Loki had no mercy from him. Instead he had his rage, his frustration, his lust, his fury. After the first weeks of his new life, Loki had begged for the first time. Byleistr had laughed. Laughed and invited his friends to amuse themselves with his runtling brother. Loki had barely survived that. The frost giants were not gentle, they had no regard for his smaller frame when they used him.

Compared with Byleistr, Anthony Stark was a kind master. Stark was demanding, but not sadistic. He used Loki's body for his pleasure, but he did not share him with others. He made Loki work his every waking hour, but he fed him and gave him a bed to sleep in. Stark gave him clothes to wear, hot water to bathe, a blanket to keep him warm. Having endured eight years on Jotunheim with none of those things, Loki knew enough to be grateful for what he had.

Yet, all that he had was irrelevant compared to the one thing he cared about. Loki would happily give up every luxury that he now enjoyed, as long as Stark would continue to shelter and protect his daughter.

Loki didn’t know how Stark had come to buy him. His master had not told him and he knew better than to ask questions that did not concern him. However it had happened, Stark had not expected to get the slave he paid for, and his six year old child as well. The children of slave are also slaves, no matter who their sire. Syla’s sire was undoubtedly Byleistr, her Jotun heritage lines told her lineage clearly. But Byleistr had no care for her, he did not lift a single finger to help Loki carry or bear her. He did not care if she lived or died in his fortress of ice and stone. Loki was the only one who cared for her, fed her, begged for scraps of clothes for her, and sheltered her in his arms, as much as a slave was able to shelter anyone. When Loki had been delivered to Midgard, bound and gagged, his daughter had been with him, her small fists clenched in the rags of his tunic, her face peeking out from behind his legs.

Stark had seen her there, and asked the guards who she was. They had shrugged and said if he didn’t want her, they would take her back to Jotunheim. Loki had fallen to his knees in panic and then flat on his belly on the ground. He could not speak for the gag in his mouth, but Stark had immediately understood. If he wanted a grateful, obedient slave, he had the perfect leverage in the small girl with curly dark hair.

He had separated them. Set Syla up in an apartment with a caretaker. She had food and warmth and loving attention, books and toys and outings to the park. All Loki had to do to keep her in such comfort, was to dedicate his every waking moment to pleasing Stark. Loki was determined to do that. Stark was the only protector his daughter had. Even her caretaker, as fond as she seemed of the child, was a paid employee.

If his behavior had been in line with expectations, Stark allowed Loki to visit Syla in her apartment once a week. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Loki drifted to sleep hoping that he had pleased his master well enough to be allowed such a visit this week.


End file.
